


Spring Water Dreams

by Lovely_Silhouette



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Creatures & Monsters, Alternate Universe - Human, Anal Sex, Biting, Double Penetration, Eventual Smut, Fear Play, Humor, M/M, Magic, Naga, Nero and his mother show up briefly, Non-Human Genitalia, Power Dynamics, Rimming, Snakes, Teratophilia, Worldbuilding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-05-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 16:26:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23430145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovely_Silhouette/pseuds/Lovely_Silhouette
Summary: "There’s an old trope that exists in human story-telling, dating back as far as humans have been able to put a piece of charcoal to stone. It goes something like “human meets non-human, human is instantly horny, non-human is just as if not more horny, and they fuck”. Simplicity itself, right?"The Naga/Human au + Forced to spend Time Together for the Foreseeable Future fic literally no one asked for.
Relationships: Dante/Vergil (Devil May Cry)
Comments: 20
Kudos: 158
Collections: Spardacest Server Fics and Art





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TuonelianTerror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuonelianTerror/gifts).



> This fic is dedicated to [TuonelianTerror](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TuonelianTerror/pseuds/TuonelianTerror), who started this idea and was so very gracious in allowing me to write it. I hope everyone enjoys the set up! Next chapter, we get to the meat.. ;D As always, this fic was made with the support and love of everyone on the Spardacest discord server, so a big thank you to everyone there.
> 
> Please, enjoy Dante being a huge Scared _and_ horny mess.

Somehow, shitty jobs with insufficient information sources just always seem to creep up on Dante’s To Do list. Personally, he blames his bosses. Morrison does his job in finding clients that need some ancient artifact recovered from a dark tomb or a manuscript in some dank, half-buried ruin for study, yet more often than not, their sources always seem to be several millennia out of date.

This current venture is for some curator guy working for the Fortuna Museum of Ancient History, Agnis? Agnes? Something like that. Agnim wants a specific relic from some godforsaken temple out in the middle of this tropical jungle - a beautiful sword of some pure metal he doesn’t remember, laden in gold and ebony, and somehow not rusted at all despite the centuries since it was lost. Local legend says the sword is a supposedly holy artifact of some minor serpent deity and grants the holder “sovereignty over all serpents in all the land” or some shit. 

Of course, after the last time his then-boss sent him on a job and he ended up having to haul ass to prevent a catastrophe, Dante decided to do some research.

Turns out the jungle Absess sent him to has the _highest concentration of venomous snakes in the world_. Not that important a detail, obviously. And that’s just the start of it. The humidity is a pain in the ass, but after getting through a desert dry enough for his skin to crack open and yet not _bleed_ , he’ll take it. The temple Dante was to find was supposedly 70 miles north of the nearest village, and 50 miles northwest of the nearest marked, unpaved road according to an allegedly legally-purchased, locally-drawn map, through dense undergrowth and tree canopies so thick they could block out the sun in places. 

It was just as difficult to track down as he thought. Almost a week of walking and dodging sudden, harsh rainstorms and trying not to accidentally step on or grab one of the jungle’s famously venomous inhabitants has him stumbling across a classic ziggurat encrusted by green moss and lichen and jungle vines. The stone was surprisingly maintained despite the obvious weather wear, every inch carved deeply with realistic depictions of entwining serpents. And with every step, Dante couldn’t let go of the feeling that he was being _watched_.

Every time he turned around, there was nothing there. Nothing but green plants with huge leaves, blooming flowers, the rustle of passing animals, and a rare glimpse of sunlight sneaking through.

Exploring the temple grounds, careful of crumbling stone-work and finding a suspicious amount of unsprung traps, he does manage to find the sword Asses wants. It’s just as beautiful as the legends say. Held on a polished granite and wood pedestal high up in the main antechamber, across a large, clean indoor pond that smells like a mineral spring even above the scent of moist, fertile earth and thick vegetation.

Of course, that’s all background info. None of it helps him in a predicament that, quite literally, managed to sneak up on him.

The scales that brush against his skin are large; easily twice the size of a coin, patterned with brilliant silver-whites, vibrant blues, and a navy blue so dark Dante was sure it was black at first glance. Thick muscle coils tightly around his body, trapping his arms to his side. It’s so heavy that it forces him to his knees, and the tightness of it around his ribs prevents him from getting a full breath in.

Dante stares up into the inordinately handsome face of what only someone vision-impaired would call a human man. Scales the same silver-white as his hair scatter across his flesh, blending the points around his waist where snakeskin becomes pale, hairless skin, over his torso and shoulders, neck and face. Ice-pale eyes give him a slit-pupil glare as the man - a naga, a real, _living_ naga! - uses his obviously expert muscle control to loom over Dante in a way that, due to the rapid thump of his heart and the solid constriction around his body, should not be sending his blood so far south.

Lady keeps making fun of him for being an adrenaline junky, but this is ridiculous. No one told Dante that the relic he’s after is being guarded by a _naga_ of all things! Aren’t places like this supposed to have been abandoned centuries ago?!

Snake-man opens his mouth just enough to let his split tongue taste the air, revealing the points of sharp, gleaming teeth. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, h-hey, hello,” Dante stutters out, disconcertingly off-balance already. Damn it, he normally has more charisma than this. “Didn’t realize this place was still inhabited.”

“ _What_ are you doing here?” Snake-man demands again, visibly losing patience.

“Well, you see,” he hurries when he feels the coils tighten. The hitch in his voice is only partly because of the lack of oxygen. “I was sent here by someone to acquire an object-”

Snake-man’s lips curl in enraged disgust. “The Yamato. Of course.”

“If that sword up there is it, then sure, yeah. But like I said, I didn’t know someone was still using this place,” Dante says honestly, hopefully before his fatally gorgeous host can get any ideas about what to do with him. He’s heard the stories of people who have run afoul of nagas - death by naga venom is not an enviable one. “I’m usually sent out to places that haven’t seen intelligent life in generations, not to take things that are still in someone’s possession. Call me a graverobber all you want - I’ve heard it before - but I don’t consider myself a thief.”

Seconds pass as Snake-man continues to glare him down. He’s still, immobile in that way that only predators get when they’re just about to make their kill. Dante doesn’t even realize he’s holding his breath until Snake-man leans down, down, down into his space. His own bloodless, harried expression stares back at him from inside those pale eyes as the naga takes a deliberate inhale. That breath Dante’s holding comes shuddering out as he comes around to do it again close enough to his neck to feel the tremendous, living heat that emanates from him. Air puffs soft and moist and _hot_ across his throat, suddenly so sensitive despite the fact that death is inches away. He’s dizzy, shaking, somehow pale and flushed at the same time, and he’s praying to every god he’s ever heard of that Snake-man can’t feel his dick, hard as a rock with how hopped up he is, against his scales.

It takes a stupid amount of time before the naga retreats, surely more than could possibly necessary for… whatever he’s doing. Sunlight catches his jewelry - armbands and circlet, necklace and scale and coin embroidered cloth waist belt glinting a brilliant gold. The ruby in his necklace, easily half the size of Dante’s fist, reflects blood red light across both of them.

Snake-man gives a quiet hum, his brow still furrowed and mouth relaxed. It doesn’t look like he trusts Dante, which, you know what, fair, but it also doesn’t look like he’s thinking about how to properly dispose of his body either. His organic binding loosens, slipping away to thud heavily against the stone floor. The relief of pressure is so great that Dante can’t resist the urge to straighten his spine as much as he can without moving too much. He does make sure to move his loose shirt to better cover his groin, however.

The naga slithers away, muscles flexing in living waves that draw his gaze. He coils around one of the pillars bordering the sword’s pedestal and uses subtle handholds in the wall to pull himself up until he can take it in hand. Black, pointed claws pair with tiny scales on his hands that glitter like navy diamonds, lightening to silver-white as they climb up his arms like he’s wearing a lady’s opera gloves. Snake-man’s eyes are reverent and tender, and he cradles the sword with all the care of a lover who knows the worth of the one he loves.

“This sword is an heirloom passed down to me by my father,” Snake-man says, drawing it from its darkwood sheath. The blade is just like Amen said - not a single speck of rust from where Dante can see, a brilliant shine to her flat and an edge that looks like it could split his skin with the slightest whisper.

It is bared to the air, and it - she _sings_.

A bit of a sword enthusiast if he does say so himself, Dante can’t help but fall a little in love.

“I am crowned ruler of serpents in this area by her blessing,” he continues, voice a touch softer. As if drawing the Yamato has cast a fragile spell that could be broken by anything louder than a murmur. Snake-man slowly sheaths her again and replaces her on her plinth. Pale-blue eyes turn back to Dante. “She will not be leaving this temple.”

Those eyes stare him down as he proclaims with all the authority of a king. Which, now that his brain has something like distance, the poor metric of safety that it is, to kickstart his brain back into gear, Dante can now process the fact that his host… actually is… Welp. At least now Dante can add “met a member of a royal bloodline” to his list of accomplishments, along with “met a naga” and “almost died thanks to a misunderstanding again”.

“Gotcha. Not even going to try and contest that,” Dante replies back, hastily getting back to his feet. They wobble more than he would like - nagas are _heavy!_ \- but at least he hasn’t fallen flat on his face. He’ll take it.

He’s not getting paid for this, is he? Agamemnon didn’t seem like the type who would give a sliver of “for your troubles” compensation if Dante said he found it, but couldn’t bring it back. He didn’t even want to pay for Dante’s transport costs.

Might as well take a chance and see if he can squeeze something good out of this whole venture. Promising he’s got the message has got to have generated some good will, right? “Any chance I can get directions to the quickest route back to human civilization? I’m not exactly a local.”

“They will guide you,” _King_ Snake-man says, pointing back towards the door Dante entered through. He glances over his shoulder and sees nothing. He’s just about to ask who his host is talking about when the floor seems to _move_ and flick forked tongues at him, staring with slit-pupil eyes. Okay… Seems like Dante should take this “King of Serpents” title pretty seriously, then.

Because he can’t help himself, Dante flashes a charming smile. “And to whom do I owe my thanks for your mercy to, my king?”

King Snake-man gives a condescending smirk and a quiet, derisive laugh. “Just leave.”

“Alright, alright, I know when I’m not wanted.” Giving a dramatic sigh, Dante turns on his heel and walks as straight-backed as he can with a boner that has so-far refused to go down. It’s not the first time he’s had to walk away from an interesting someone - Dante’s non-discriminating enough to say honestly he’s met plenty, but you don’t get as far as he has in this business if you can’t tell when it’s a bad idea to push your luck. At least he’s got a story to take back, provided he doesn’t get swept away by these sudden, freak rainstorms…

* * *

“I thought I told you to leave,” King Snake-man tells him, slithering in from a square opening in the roof as Dante walks back in the temple doorway. He’s tracking water with every step, practically dripping and smelling heavily of rainwater. The skin between his thighs and in his armpits chafe as they rub against wet cloth; which means he’s too miserable to give proper appreciation to the way streams of water drip down the naga’s scales and over hard, chiseled abs.

“You know that single bridge over the river that basically encircles this area?” Dante asks, yanking his shirt over his head to wring it out near the door.

King Snake-man sighs heavily. “It’s been flooded, hasn’t it? This happens every year… Fine. For heeding my earlier warning without causing a disturbance, I’ll allow you to stay for the time being - provided that you obey certain rules. But the second the water recedes-”

“I’ll make myself scarce,” Dante finishes gruffly for him, cursing himself in his head. All that research into the region and it was the snakes he chose to remember, not the very predictable seasonal rainstorms that typically cause _flash floods_. At least he pitched his tent on _this_ side of the river, so he still has all his supplies until the river goes back down. Not having another change of clothes would have been beyond bothersome.

Speaking of his supplies... “Here,” Dante says, reaching into his waterproof travel backpack with what he hopes is a dry hand. It takes a moment of digging, but eventually he comes up with a hard backed book, leather-bound and inscribed with a large V that takes up most of the front cover. He holds it out to the naga. “I heard in one of the southern villages that it’s customary to offer your host a gift if they’re housing you. I don’t have much that I don’t absolutely need that you might be interested in, but I’ve got this. Not sure if you can read it, though.”

King Snake-man drifts closer, plucking the book from his hand with clever, careful fingers. “I can read, human,” he informs Dante with an irritated huff. “There’s an entire library in the southern wing of this temple. You may not take any of them, either.”

“I meant I wasn’t sure if you could read the language, since it only became somewhat common in this country in the last 4 decades,” Dante snorts, “but it’s good to know where I can find something to do if I’m bored. Is the library full of old manuscripts or has it been added to recently?”

The naga flips his new gift open to scan the front page. “Books of many kinds are a common offering when the villagers come to call upon my authority.” A random amount of pages get flipped, and he takes long enough to scan over the page, eyes following the lines and stanzas, that Dante has no choice but to conclude that, yes, he can read the language. “This gift is acceptable,” King Snake-man concludes, before snapping it closed and tucking it close to his naked chest.

He turns to a doorway to the left of the Yamato’s plinth. “Come, I’ll show you where you may stay until the river recedes.”

* * *

Well, as it turns out, the river’s not going to be receding anytime soon. It’s 4 days into Dante’s stay and the rains, while sporadic, are heavy, thick, and daily. Humidity chokes the air enough that sweat can’t dry. Sheets of water come down, and it’s only thanks to clever grooves and channels he finds carved throughout the complex that the place doesn’t flood. Say what you will about ancient architecture, but at least they knew how to build for the weather they were living in.

No other humans present themselves as he wanders throughout the complex, which he feels like he should have expected. All of the rooms have some kind of furnishing, but it’s clear that just about all of it is designed to accommodate a long body made of heavy muscle rather than anything small and human-shaped. Piles of soft cloth form retreats for burrowing into and tapestries that tell stories of previous naga kings litter the walls in certain areas. That’s to say nothing of the area he’s been informed has been claimed by his host, which features, of all things, a long tube carved into the wall to squeeze through, ending in a silk-padded recline just the right size for a human torso.

Speaking of his host, Dante can now put a name to his handsome face - Vergil, son of the previous king, Sparda, who was the grandson of the first naga king in this area. There’s not a whole lot of tapestries that speak of Mundus’ reign, but Dante doesn’t ask why.

Vergil proves to be a most generous host, considering the muddy circumstances. The only time Dante is guaranteed to see Vergil throughout the day is when he returns with some prey animal hunted from the nearby jungle. He is allowed to watch the meal be prepared, encouraged to help out, even (if you could call being named some very short and terse terms for not knowing to offer in the first place “encouragement”), and they retreat to a veranda-like area that gives a lovely panoramic view of a well-tended garden. Flowers of every size and color, from tiny bell-like flowers that hummingbirds like to frequent to large, tall stalks of ruby red trumpets, give the damp air a fragrant aroma that is only dampened during the rains. The rustle of vegetation stirred and the heavy pitter-patter of drops against stone tiles forms a symphony that Dante rarely gets to hear in the heart of the city. Being out here, out in the world and out of the big empty office building that he’s renovated into an apartment, always reminds him why he got into this business. It’s not about the glory, or the prestige, or the money, or even the adventure (though that last one is a big perk).

The life of a professional relic hunter is dangerous, dirty, sometimes even illegal; there are places, entire countries, that Dante will never be able to revisit without being arrested, and people he’ll never be able to meet again without being shot at. There’s at least one bounty out on his head that he knows of.

Even so, every time he steps foot out that door on another job, it feels like the entire world is waiting for him, and he can’t stop himself from racing forward with open arms to meet it. It’s about getting out into the world for him. About putting his ear to the wind and letting it lead him to places Dante only dreamed existed as a young, naive child. A claustrophobic desk job would have killed him more definitively than any shoot out or sprung trap or venomous bite ever could.

Speaking of venomous bites, Dante is surprised he hasn’t been bitten yet despite how often he turns around only to find _some_ viper lurking somewhere near him. They always stare, flicking dark glistening tongues at him to scent the air. It’s like they’re keeping watch, waiting for him to betray their king’s confidence.

Or maybe it’s some hilarious joke to make the poor, unsuspecting human jump and squeak. Why else would Vergil always fortuitously seem to be around whenever a snake is getting ready to jump-scare him? The asshole is laughing at him, Dante just knows it.

He better be glad he’s handsome. It would be a shame to ruin such a pretty face, even if the one it’s attached to is a dick. The guy needs to get around people and socialize more often if he’s so bored that this is how he gets his jollies.

This is just his sense of humor, isn’t it? It would figure. “Unfairly beautiful”, “too clever for his own good”, and “arrogant jerk” always seems to be the key components that make up Dante’s preferred type.

He still hasn’t forgotten the weight of those smooth, sinuous coils around his body, holding him in place through bulk alone. The heat of breath against his skin. What would those claws feel like, wrapped around his throat, or buried in his hair? How would that tongue feel against his aching cock?

Is he even going to get a chance to find out before the rains let up and the river recedes enough to permit Dante’s passage?

* * *

There’s an old trope that exists in human story-telling, dating back as far as humans have been able to put a piece of charcoal to stone. It goes something like “human meets non-human, human is instantly horny, non-human is just as if not more horny, and they fuck”. Simplicity itself, right?

As tends to be the case, the truth is less romanticized. Non-humans of all varieties have been a part of life for most people the world over, but only in the most distant sense - like the difference between knowing that a museum curator named Agnut lives in Fortuna and actually traveling to Fortuna to meet him face to face. Most people don’t see non-humans every day to get horny over them in the first place despite living with and sometimes benefiting from the tangible effects they leave behind. Not a whole lot of non-humans go for others outside of their own kind, even the ones who prey on humans without killing them.

That’s not to say there are no non-humans who show interest. Dante has met a few; an ancient vampiric fae spirit, a shadowy shapeshifter, a pair of twin demons who possessed golem bodies, a fire cat, a pissed-off light elemental and a lightning elemental who ended up possessing a motorcycle soon after they fucked. He can honestly say he’s slept with more non-humans than humans in his lifetime. That probably says something unflattering about him, but non-humans just tend to be more _fun_ in the sack. The thread of danger that exists in being so vulnerable around something so powerful gets the old adrenaline going more potently than any blindfold, whip or handcuff ever could, and Dante can admit that he never comes harder than when his body is being played with and owned by something that could kill him if they really wanted to.

Dante can’t say he wouldn’t be amenable if his host were willing to take him to his bed, but it’s best to take these things one at a time. First off, he needs to find out if Vergil would even be willing to sleep with a human, and that’s not something even a smooth-talker like himself would be willing to just ask out of the blue.

Of course, because the world has a habit of loving him as much as it hates him, he gets his answer over a week into his stay.

The clouds break for the first time in days, and the blue of the sky is as brilliant as a sapphire’s shine. Dante had gone out on a self-appointed task to test his knowledge of the local flora, just to escape the hallowed quiet of the temple before the cabin fever sets in. Hours later, he’s met with a strange sight in the courtyard - a human woman in a red dress of local origin, brilliant white and gold stitching forming the pattern of a noble serpent over her breast and around her shoulders, and a child, no older than 7 years.

Not a normal child, not even at first glance. Even if Dante couldn’t see the silver-white and deep blue and navy black scales that peak out under his clothes, and the cold, icy blue of his slit eyes, it would be hard to mistake that pale hair as belonging to anyone else. And Dante says that having a similar shade of translucent pale on his own head.

The youngling glares at him from the front of who Dante assumes is his mother’s skirt, vicious and protective despite not even reaching his waist. It would be adorable, if not for the fangs visibly dripping yellowish venom in his snarling mouth, or the black talons that have replaced the nails of his right hand. What little Dante knows about half-bloods says that characteristics of both human and non-human ancestry tend to compete with one another and express themselves chaotically, so he doesn’t bother glancing at the other hand.

“Nero,” comes sharply over his shoulder, hard as a reprimand and gentle as an assurance. In an instant, the boy and woman drop to one knee, though the boy peeks out from under his bangs with obvious excitement. It makes him look more his age.

Vergil slinks down the front steps of the temple with ease and throws his guests a surprisingly welcoming look. “I apologize. I had only gotten your message just this morning. I would have warned you I was hosting a guest if I had received it sooner.”

“It’s no trouble at all, Serpent King,” the woman says, standing gracefully. She regards Vergil with admiration, pious respect, and a degree of warmth that speaks of a companionship, however brief. None of the fear or reverence that Dante would have expected from someone claiming to be a subject of the monarch - a minor deity, according to some - they stand before. Her hands drop to the boy’s shoulders, bringing him up to stand, and her grin widens with a mother’s fond amusement. “Nero hasn’t seen his father in so long that he was getting restless, so I just had to bring him over.”

The boy duck his head, shy all of a sudden despite the obvious tension causing his body to twitch and squirm. Dante huffs a quiet laugh, and laughs louder when all that does is get Nero to glare at him again.

“You don’t look exactly surprised to see that these two made it past the river, and yet here I am having to wait for those roaring rapids to calm before I can see home again.” Turning to his host, Dante clasps a hand over his heart and scrunches his face into a deeply offended frown. “You’ve been holding out on me, haven’t you? For shame!”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Vergil replies with biting sarcasm, a smirk sharp as obsidian on his lips, “did I owe you anything more?”

Dante throws his hands skyward in an over-blown display. “Oh, I see how it is. You just wanted to scam me out of a gift. Well, see if I ever trust you again, yeah? Good _day_ to you, I say! Good day!”

“Who is that guy, father? He’s a weirdo,” the kid says with all the obliviousness of a child who doesn’t realize that people can still hear him as Dante walks away, not wanting to intrude on an obviously private affair. Vergil hushes him despite giving a chuckle that says he agrees with his son’s assessment. Dante already had some trouble to plan as payback for holding some mysterious access point in secret. What’s a little more, right?

The woman finds him on one of the temple’s second story balconies. Delighted laughter trickles like bell tolls over the roof, breaking into brief shrieks or sentences garbled by distance. It reminds Dante of the days he spent running through the halls of their home, his mother chasing after him on feet deliberately slower so as to give him the illusion of a chance. Nero’s mother bears less resemblance to her son than his father does, but he can see him in the broadness of her brow, the slant of her nose and the square of her chin. “He fascinates you,” she tells him, meeting his eye with an acute confidence of one who knows she’s right.

It would be so easy to play dumb, especially since not a lot of humans are exactly kind to the idea of someone who enjoys the company of others outside of their own species, but there’s no need. If there’s anyone who would understand the potent, aphrodisiac allure, it would be a woman who voluntarily bore an inhuman child.

“You can’t blame me,” Dante responds, leaning back over the wooden railing to gaze up at thick, voluminous dark clouds. If this had been back home, Dante would have said it was going to rain any minute, but after being trapped here for the last week, he knows better than to try and guess. “I mean, you’ve seen him. You’ve _been_ with him. I just wasn’t sure if he was an open type or not. Now I am.”

“Lord Vergil’s whims are certainly picky when it comes to taking a human lover,” she says. She leans against the doorway and seems to consider him with crossed arms and crossed ankles, running over Dante with surprisingly deft eyes. “You’ll want to try harder if you want to fascinate _him_ in return, however. That he’s allowed you to remain in the temple despite being an outsider and a heretic is a good sign, but not enough of one.”

Dante chuckles, amused at this whole situation. “Got a tip for a lost, questing man?”

“Impress him. That is your first step.” She smiles like she’s trying not to laugh at him. Dante can almost feel the anticipatory schadenfreude. No wonder she and Vergil got along well enough to produce Nero. “No pressure.”

“Yeah… No pressure.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante does many a dumb and somehow manages to win the guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long! This story was taking its sweet time dragging itself out of my brain. As compensation, have some tastey smut ;D Hope everyone enjoys!

Gunmetal armored plating clings to his arms and shins, practically vibrating with an eagerness that shouldn’t be possible in even an enchanted pair of gauntlets and boots. Lines of purple and plum-magenta energy coarse through supernatural steel like living veins, bleeding past his elbows and knees to trail up his limbs, following his spine, until they reach the back of his skull. More gunmetal plating manifests as the energy flows over the lower half of his face into a mouth and nose guard that slams shut. Whispers of violence and bloodshed trickle into his deepest thoughts, the vaguest pull of energy from his body as the spirit that infests the cursed armor tries to tempt him, but Dante is an old hat at keeping strange thoughts at bay. Old Gilgamesh hasn’t been able to steal his mind from him yet, and Dante will be long dead before the day it gets even close.

Humid air ghosts over his skin as he stretches, his shirt having been discarded in favor of keeping cooler. Already he can feel the itchiness of sweat mixing with the water vapor in the air. Anticipation of burning muscles and laboring lungs sits heavy in his gut. It’s been too long since he’s gotten a good fight in, much less done any of his strenuous exercises.

He’s into his forms, polishing off the rust he’s gathered from his languishing, when he hears the increasingly familiar sound of scales sliding against stone and hard earth. Eyes prickle on the back of his neck. Dante doesn’t resist the urge to flex after each stretch, muscles turning from smooth, firm flesh to stark relief for the briefest second. His audience gives a quiet huff that sounds like it might be laughter.

Slowly, Dante feels his body loosen from all the tension that’s been building up since his last job. Erratic energy smooths into a steady flow throughout his body, momentum carried from his feet though his core and up into his shoulders and arms. As if in harmony, Gilgamesh deploys his steaks, punching holes into imaginary opponents that all fall beneath Dante’s blows.

Dante brings his leg over his head, nearing the very edge of his body’s flexibility, and brings it down in a hard axe kick. Dark navy blue snakes into the corner of his vision like a lightning bolt, and before Dante can pull back he feels the impact of metal against flesh through his heel.

Vergil doesn’t even wince, even though he must be in pain, even though the blow to his forearm would have broken the bone on a human. He just looks at Dante with the most calculating glance Dante thinks he’s ever been pinned with before. It’s like he’s being dissected. Slit pupils rove over his body, taking in muscle and possessed metal, before staring into his eyes for the longest moment of his life, and in that moment Dante _knows_ without words that he’s just been upgraded from “bumbling human” to “possible threat”.

“You said before that you get usually sent to places that haven’t seen sentient life in generations,” Vergil says just neutral enough to be a side-step from an accusation. He goes back to looking over the armor covering his limbs.

Dante is quick to back off and yank a gauntlet off. Without the four-point connection that is essential to the armor’s functionality, Gilgamesh’s presence is destabilized, and the liquid energy retreats back into the boots and gauntlet still on his body. Whispers and visions of bloodstained scales fall silent, and fresh, moisture-laden air hits his laboring lungs as the guard that filtered such things vaporizes in a dark mist.

“That’s true, but it never hurts to be prepared. Sometimes, sentient life is the least dangerous thing in the area,” he says now that his jaw is unrestricted. Keeping his own counsel, Vergil remains cautiously still as a wary predator. He only gives Dante a single tilt of the head and a lowering of his arm to work with.

“Do you often come into contact with things that require a cursed arm to handle?” Vergil asks, still uncomfortably placid.

“You’d be surprised.” Dante’s hair is sticky with sweat and clings to the uncovered fingers he runs through it. “My last job, I had to trick an Ifrit into a fist fight so that it wouldn’t curse the nearby villages with a deadly heatwave after some idiot accidentally released it from the casket it was sealed in. It always helps to have at least one,” he gives a small laugh, “and Gilgamesh here isn’t even my favorite.”

His host continues to stare at him. This time, however, Dante is getting the impression of wide-eyed amazement mixing with consternation and a few hints of abject horror, rather than well-checked hostility. Slowly, a dark-scaled palm runs over Vergil’s handsome face. “You have more than one connected to you, and yet somehow you haven’t lost your presence of mind,” he says, strangely breathy, just short of a sibilant hiss.

“I haven’t?” Dante asks skeptically, gripping his stubbly chin. He makes a show of tapping his knuckle on his temple, solid bone giving a flesh-muted thud. “Yep, everything looks to be in order.”

“You may still know yourself, but it’s clear you’ve lost your sanity along the way.” The biting sarcasm and judgement in that tone could have slain a lesser man where he stood, but it's not like Dante hasn’t heard it before, or that it’s not unreasonable. There’s a reason that a lot of legends that feature sentient items also feature their wielders going mad. Dante is just about to respond with a snippy line, something about how they’ve been getting along so well lately, when Vergil takes up a strange stance. Low to the ground, torso leaning forwards, the sharp ridges of pseudo-hips meant for balancing a human torso on a snake body making themselves visible. His arms spread wide with his hand held vertical. Black claws are flexed, their tips hard and deadly points that could shred deep furrows into Dante’s skin if they landed. Ice-pale eyes fixate on him with palpable intent.

Dante shifts on his feet, uncertain, and tries not to let his racing blood turn to fire under his skin. The smooth metal of the gauntlet slips over his hand, fitting itself to his body with a dim glow of malevolent energy, and the air that clogs his lungs filters to a stale, odorless miasma as the mask reforms. The whispers that pervade the very corners of his mind fade into background noise as his host begins to circle him slowly.

“You won’t mind if I test your self-discipline, will you?” It comes out as a question, yet there’s no doubt that it’s a proclamation at its core: you will fight me. Dante doesn’t know what will happen if he refuses Vergil, whether his host will see fit to evict him early due to being a possibly unstable unknown or if he will be under greater observation or if he will simply be killed right here and now.

He doesn’t want to refuse it anyway.

Dante laughs as best he can, muffled by the unyielding mouth-guard, and gives Vergil the old Bruce Lee come-hither.

(It’s a closer battle that he thinks either of them expected. Vergil is a clever opponent, tricky and faster than his huge size implies. Dante has no doubt that the claws Vergil raked across his back are going to scar, just as he has no doubt that the heel-print he drove into his host’s shoulder is going to bruise a brilliant purple by the end of the day. Vergil managed to beat him 2-to-1, and Dante swears to himself that he is going to even the score before he leaves this temple.

His mind won’t let him forget being pinned under that volcano-hot bulk again that night. Having it coiling around his leg as Vergil perched over him. He wakes to the memory of Vergil staring down at him with eyes that glint like diamond shards and a mouth that pants hot breath that smells of something sweet and something coppery just over Dante’s face. He shimmies his pants down and hurriedly fists his cock to the memory of claws that bite into the skin of his throat, holding him to the floor as Vergil revels in his victory. When he comes, it’s to the musings of what it could have been like, had Vergil chosen to savor his victory with his all-too-willing opponent.

The aftermath sees Dante sticky, sweating, hot and humid and searching the room like a man possessed by paranoia, praying to all the gods he’s ever heard of that no snakes were spying on him to see that little display. He’s seen them reporting to Vergil before. He knows they’re all snitches...)

* * *

A steady, stable routine develops after their initial duel. Granted, it thrives on pumping blood and bodies that bruise and ache for hours after they’ve set their arms down, but it’s still a routine! There’s a regard when Vergil looks at him now, even if it’s not present in any other facet of their interactions. Dante sees him around more often than he used to. He can actually coax a conversation out of Vergil every now and again. Maybe he should have volunteered to kick his ass days ago.

It’s progress, all things considered. Not the kind of progress he would _like_ , the kind that’s explosive and lightning fast, burning and devastating as a wildfire, but it’s better than nothing. Dante spends his nights in dreams of fluid muscle and echoing moans, and his days exploring the jungle and the hidden depths of the temple.

Vergil has sniped at him for being too curious and going where he’s not explicitly invited, but screw him, Dante’s been keeping to within the confines of their little agreement. He doesn’t invade Vergil’s personal rooms, or the serpent sanctuaries scattered throughout the temple, or the very obvious armory that’s probably full of well-maintained antiquities that have Dante’s ever-present curiosity chomping at the bit. He hasn’t so much as glanced in the direction of the Yamato’s plinth despite walking by her nearly every day. If Vergil didn’t want his guest poking around, he shouldn’t have invited Dante to stay and just let him use that little hidden tunnel Nero and his mother used to get past the river. Dante still hasn’t managed to locate that, by the way.

(It’s probably an escape tunnel. That would explain why Vergil is so cagey about where the entrance is located, and why he didn’t just point Dante in its direction on the first day. Dante doesn’t look too hard for it.)

It’s during one of the worst downpours he’s ever seen, an impenetrable sheet of falling water mere feet from the window, that the answer to his question falls quite literally into his lap. He’s stuck in the library, unwilling to leave the temple to brave the outside precipitation, looking through Vergil’s book collection for something to occupy himself with. All the volumes he’s read through already are looked over, but he finds one in a tightly packed shelf. Dante tugs lightly on the spine to get it free, but that doesn’t stop its neighbor from falling out of place beside it.

Cursing, he scrambles to catch it before it hits the floor and manages to trap it as it passes between his thighs. He breathes a sigh of relief, not wanting to face Vergil’s wrath for disrespecting his precious books, especially one so old-looking.

That relief quickly rots into dismay when he glances around and sees a tiny viper coiled up on top of one of the lower shelves, staring and flicking its tongue at him before slithering away behind the wood. Great, Dante thinks to himself, grumbling under his breath. Wanting to get a good look at the source of his future tongue lashing (and not the kind he _likes_ ), he puts the book he wanted away and flips open the offender.

His eyes rove over the page half-interestedly, and the grumbling fades as quickly as it came. He reads the words again to take it all in. Dante does the same to the next page, and the one after that, and, slowly, an idea begins to form in his mind.

It’s crazy, it’s borderline suicidal, if it fails he’s going to be tossed out into the rain _at best._

Dante laughs under his breath, and feels his heart beat wildly in his chest out of excitement.

But if it works? If it works, it will be worth _every fucking second._

* * *

A solid few days pass before his preparations are made, and even then he’s not ready until it’s time. It’s a good thing Trish made him sit through those practical magic lessons a while back. Otherwise, his little plan wouldn’t have gone off nearly so well.

Vergil snarls mightily at him from the confines of the magic seal Dante spent the last three days drawing a little bit at a time onto the ancient stone. Despite being made of berry juice and rock dust, it holds solidly against the enraged naga trying to pull free. The sight of yellowish venom leaking from his clearly displayed fangs sends Dante’s heart thumping like a drum in his ears, the slightest hints of sweat forming under his hairline despite him projecting nothing but victory. Dante sends a close-lipped smile down at his host from his seat on the edge of the Yamato’s plinth, and rests his hand on her sheath to keep her from tumbling off his lap.

“Seems the rat has finally decided to reveal himself for what he is,” Vergil hisses menacingly, nearly a whisper to contrast the inferno of rage that brims in his eyes. The seal forms chains that pin his tail down, ending in spectral manacles that stop him from racing forwards to rip Dante’s throat out. They give a surprisingly metallic clinking noise as Vergil strains against them “Enjoy your victory while you can, scum. When I am free-”

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Dante cuts him off, pulling himself up to stand as gracefully as he can. Might as well get the show on the road.

Gravity pulls him down with the inevitability of the tide as he steps from the plinth. It’s not a small drop. He hits the ground hard enough to rattle his entire body, but it’s worth it to rise up like a badass who’s control of the situation isn’t entirely dependent on the fact that his captive is too busy hissing at him to think about commanding any snakes nearby to rush in like a low-hanging cavalry. Vergil doesn’t seem to appreciate the display, pulling even harder at his ethereal chains, fingers visibly flexing as if imagining how it would feel to wring the life from him. Dante sighs. Everyone’s a critic.

“I told you that I wasn’t a thief,” Dante says lightly, feeling his heart thump in his chest loud enough to almost drown out his thoughts.

The answering contemptuous snort is disregarded, as is the screaming, haunting creek of the bonds slowly starting to give, though it does cause shivers to break out across his skin. The Yamato quivers ever so slightly in his hands as if she too is straining. Bringing her up seems to make it worse, and if the way Vergil stares at her is anything to go by, he might have something to do with it. With that in mind, carefully, oh so carefully, Dante places one foot forwards. 

“I meant it, you know,” Dante says just as casually. It’s with deliberation that he holds the Yamato out, horizontal and loose-gripped, and waits for the right moment. “I’m not going to steal her. I just wanted your attention.”

With a quick drag of his foot across the floor, the binding is broken just as the homicidal darkness clouding his host’s face falters just the slightest bit in confusion. Bracing himself is the only thing that stops Dante from being run over by several hundred pounds of pure muscle. He’s picked up by a hand gripping the front of his shirt, and the next thing he knows he’s being dragged over and slammed down _hard_ over a rock in the center pond.

Pain explodes over Dante’s every nerve, electrifying him as his breath gusts out of him. He barely notices when the Yamato is yanked from his grasp in favor of trying to pull air back into his lungs. It would certainly help if Vergil’s fist wasn’t pressing down on the center of his chest. Ringing fills his ears, and for a second Dante thinks he’s hit his head, but there’s no pain there.

Dante opens his eyes, and the first thing he registers is narrow slit pupils laser-sighted on him from a beautifully angled face, and lips pulled back in a menacing snarl. Sunlight rains down from above, causing shadows to throw themselves over his expression, but what he can read is enough for hard-fought oxygen to catch in his throat.

The constant hissing streaming from between Vergil’s teeth ceases long enough to ask, “Do you think this is some kind of joke? I told you that the Yamato was not to leave this temple!”

Dante laughs hoarsely, causing Vergil to clench his jaw and press down even harder. “And she’s still here!”

Wriggling around only has Vergil pressing his weight harder down on top of him, the widest part of his body threatening to slide between Dante’s thighs and into the cradle of his hips. Good sense tells him to stop moving, so what does he do?

He lets his thighs fall even further open. Smooth, heavy scales slide against the fabric of his pants, pushing the fabric hard against the erection tenting his pants, causing him to let out a harsh sound far too deep to be purely pain. Vergil must feel it, because he freezes, and his mouth cracks open on an inhale. Interestingly, his pupils flex, something Dante only notices because he’s staring hard into Vergil’s eyes like looking away is the difference between life and death.

“I figured that if I wanted your attention, I was going to have to impress you.” That feeling of a predator closing in on a kill comes over Dante again, just like it had during their first meeting. Adrenaline forces his body into overdrive, like he’s going to fly out of his skin if he doesn’t _move_. That’s a death sentence, however, and an impossibly difficult task besides. He runs his tongue over his lips, a nervous gesture, and watches Vergil follow it. “I also found a book on old naga social rituals in the library. The chapter on courting rituals was… enlightening.”

“Courting rituals.” Vergil asks without asking, calm and neutral in that dangerous, disastrous way that means he can’t decide between anger, incredulousness and flat, unsurprised resignation. His face slides into blank neutrality, and Dante can just _feel_ the curses that are brewing in his head.

“It’s really weird that your people make your intentions known by stealing something and deliberately pissing your potential partners off, you know,” Dante answers cheekily before Vergil can release them. His answer is a hard gritting of the teeth and a bestial snarl that raises goosebumps across his flesh. His dick twitches in his pants, and Vergil must feel it because the snarl on his face turns dark and _interested._ His other hand twitches, and the Yamato disappears in a flash of diaphanous blue light.

Need, hot and low and hungry, burns through his blood so strong that Dante is surprised he’s even intelligible with how breathy his voice is.. “So what do you say?”

Dante gives a yelp as he’s unceremoniously flipped around so that only his chest and stomach rest on the rock, his knees digging into the stone that forms the bottom of the pond. He tries to push himself to his elbows, but then there’s claws pressing into the flesh of his throat and a hand pushing him back down. Vergil’s bulk, thankfully just his human torso, settles down across his back, but then he’s also pushing against his backside and Dante can just _feel_ the emenceness of his frame. The weight of him. How, if he coiled this part around Dante, he wouldn’t even be able to sit up like he had been able to when Vergil coiled the lower half of his tail around him. Then he feels muscle coiling around his legs, tightening. He tries to flex his legs, tensing them to see if there’s any give, and receives nothing.

Dante has felt small before. He’s felt helpless, and like he was as much prey as he was a lover. Even so, Dante doesn’t think he’s felt quite so at someone’s mercy before. His blood pulses like burning fire in his veins and his skin feels hypersensitive with how turned on he is right now. Enough so that when Vergil leans down and hot breath puffs against his shoulder, a shiver races down his spine and transmutes into lust that sends his cock throbbing in his pants. Dante’s hips flex and rut forwards out of instinct, but the coils around him prevent him from so much as twitching forwards.

Fuck, this is gonna be a ride…

“There are other ways of getting my attention, Dante, if you wanted it,” Vergil utters lowly into his ear, syllables stretching into almost serpentine hisses. “There was no need to be so formal. You were already getting into my good graces.”

“Yeah, well, I wanted to make myself memorable,” he retorts, squirming just a little so that his shirt doesn’t chafe against his sensitive nipples quite so agonizingly. The hand on the back of his neck presses his down even more harshly, grinding his face into the stone. Dante grunts his displeasure and swats at Vergil’s pseudo-hips. He has to grunt again when Vergil roughly grabs his wrists and wrenches them behind his back to hold with one hand.

“Memorable is one word for it. There is, however, the matter of you binding me and laying hands on my sword,” came from above like an ominous warning, the lightning right before the thunder. “As such, I think a little atonement is in order.”

“Such as?”

Scaled muscles uncoil from around his legs, freeing him. Almost immediately, the faint sensation of pins and needles prickles through the lower half of his body as circulation returns. Dante has just enough time to stretch his legs back before Vergil is rearing back and yanking his pants down with harsh jerks. The wet fabric clings to his legs, making them difficult to remove. There’s a moment where Dante is afraid that Vergil will get too impatient and just rip them off, but then they get past his knees and slip off easy enough. He’s very thankful he decided to forgo wearing his boots and socks when undertaking his task.

The sopping cloth hits the wall on one side of the room with a wet splat. Dante tries to push himself up again to get a good look at what’s going on behind him and gets a palm pressing on his lower back as a reminder not to move. The hand sweeps up his spine, dragging his shirt with it. The warm, smooth texture of scales against his wet skin, claws giving a hard scrape as it goes, has him shivering and arching into it. Lava-like heat trails after the touch and Dante can’t blame the dampness gathering in his hairline on the hot spring water. Holy shit, it’s been a while since he got this worked up from a few touches.

Behind him comes the curious sound of water being swished and spat out, then a second time. “You may not come from this,” Vergil tells him just as Dante feels hot breath hit his ass. His eyes fly wide open, not sure when he closed them in the first place, and the first thought in his head is no way, he wouldn’t-

His breath hitches in a choked off groan as his ass is spread open and a slippery tongue meets his hole. It doesn’t quite swipe as a human tongue would, doing something circular and stroking rather than up and down. It’s also longer and has a different texture to it, simultaneously rougher and wetter, and that _fork_.

Dante can’t help it. He’s gasping and groaning and shuddering with full body twitches, collapsing back to his elbows to dig his forehead into the rock below. He bucks back, trying to get more of that blissful contact, but Vergil’s grip is like iron on his hips, and he seems to redouble his efforts to drive Dante out of his mind. The impediment only enhances his enjoyment. The pit of his gut is tightening so fast that he just knows he’s not going to last much longer.

“ _Fuuuuuck_ ,” Dante groans like it’s a prayer on his lips. “Fucking - slow down, will you!?”

“ _No_ , Vergil practically hisses behind him, the way he does when he’s being focused and pushy. It must be a naga thing. He pauses in his task to scrape his teeth across Dante’s asscheek. “And if you so much as think about coming before I’m inside you, you can forget about this going any further.”

“Come on-”

This time, Vergil really does bite his ass. Dante’s heart skips a beat, remembering the venom quite literally dripping from his lips, but the teeth do not pierce the skin. “I’m preparing you, fool,” Vergil bites out impatiently, the pissy garden snake. “Unlike humans, naga have-”

“You have a hemipenis, I know,” Dante finishes, glaring over his shoulder. “I’ve done my homework, remember?” The side of his shin impacts Vergil’s snake body in retaliation for the totally unprovoked bite. He’s rewarded with the naga surging upwards and onto him, forcing his torso back down. Vergil’s mouth clamps down just above his shoulder blade, and this time they really do pierce into him. Dante gives a short scream, reflexively jerking, and waits for the burning agony of naga venom destroying his body from the inside out. It doesn’t come.

All he feels is the painful sting of teeth in his back. Vergil lets out a sibilant growl that vibrates into his body, aggravating the wound. His claws wrap tightly around Dante’s hip and flank. It occurs to him how easily Vergil could gut him with his hands alone. The thought is far more arousing than it should be in this position.

“As I was _saying_ ,” Vergil says when he withdraws, as if he wasn’t just gums deep in Dante’s shoulder. His tone is cool, in-control, menacing both because of and despite it. “I’m preparing you. I’m taking my time to loosen you up properly. As I said early, you may _not_ come until I am satisfied.”

Dante chances a look over his shoulder, careful not to pull the injured muscle. There's a red smear on his lips and teeth that smells of copper. “What, you want me to beg?”

Vergil stares back, imperious and a little bit malicious. “It would certainly help your case.”

Satisfied that he’s made himself clear, Vergil slinks back down his body and gets back to work. Dante lets his head fall with a deep groan, restraining the urge to writhe where he kneels. Sweat stings the edges of the wound, but the pain just adds an edge to the pleasure ripping through his body without mercy. Adrenaline sings in his blood, keying his body higher and higher with every stroke of Vergil’s tongue, and god dammit but there can’t be a hell greater than this. He can’t last much longer-

Somehow, Dante manages not to blow his load, though it does come at a great cost. By the time, Vergil deems him good and ready, Dante is shaking like a leaf in a storm, and he’s practically soaked in sweat from both sensation and the heat of the spring. His breath comes in desperate pants a single mouth shape away from a plea. His cock throbs angrily between his legs, demanding attention from something, anything, anything that will end this torment and just let him come already. He can’t even swish it around in the water when the surface is already up to the top of his thighs.

Vergil lets out a strange vibrating noise almost like a purr as he finally, _finally_ pulls away from Dante’s ass. “There you go,” he says. His tone is so thick with self-satisfaction that Dante wants to punch him. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

He wiggles his hips back as best he can, desperation lending him urgency. “Just fucking get in me already!”

It’s far too much like a plea for his liking but sue him. He’s far too horny. Lust is setting his nerves on fire and all he wants is something inside him yesterday. Even the sting of his shoulder is taking a backseat to the burning in his gut and the tremble of his thighs.

A chuckle, deep, indulgent and filled with far less anger than before, is his answer. Vergil’s body shifts over him, sliding forwards with hands that walk up his back and down his arms until a firm torso meets his sweaty back. As his human torso picks a spot to get comfortable on, the snake body moves between his spread legs, and Dante _feels_ it against his backside. He swallows despite himself, mouth suddenly wet and dry at the same time.

It’s huge, the size of his wrist at the widest. He can feel two prongs poking his backside, ridged and oddly textured with what might be soft, fleshy spines, twitching this way and that, trying to find his entrance. They’re so damn wet that they leave damp spots that he can feel even over the steam coming off the spring. When they catch on his rim, Dante can help his gasping breath. Even the tip is huge, and it slips inside without resistance.

The first tip feels like it’s barely in before the second starts pushing in after it, and Dante groans deliriously at the delicious burn of his hole being stretched.

In some corner of his mind dedicated to trying to retain his sanity, the feeling of his legs being shifted registers. His legs are straightening, closing together as Vergil’s tail once again wraps around them, his body tightening around the shafts working their ways into his core. He’s trapped, thoroughly, pressed down and being speared with one of the thickest dicks he’s ever taken, and Dante can’t think, can’t speak, can’t even _breathe_ beyond a surge of pleasure and adrenaline and heady, enthralling lust as he finally comes into the water.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-

Scales brush against the side of his face as Vergil gently rubs his damp temple with his cheek. “Shhhhhh…” Vergil whispers, and Dante realizes he’s been cursing only when he finally runs out of breath. He sucks in a shaky breath, chokes on it, and greedily sucks in another.

“I see that you’re enjoying yourself,” he comments lightly, strangely lazy and lagging, less like he’s distracted and more like that one time Dante caught him sunning himself during one of the rare dry days. Vergil had been relaxed, utterly, and by the way he’s almost _slumped_ against Dante’s back, this might be similar. “My turn, now.”

“What-,” he begins to ask. He has to choke on a rough moan, however, as the serpentine dick now fully seated inside him twitches, then twitches again, and again. It moves in a jerking circular motion, forming a strange waving against his insides that stimulates his nerve endings, sending horrible fire through his body.

Too much, Dante would have shouted if his hard-won breath hadn’t been immediately punched out of him. He jerks and shudders reflexively where he lies as overstimulation rips through him. Ecstatic agony has loud whines and cries spilling from his lips like prayers.

The movement inside him stops for a moment, giving Dante a moment to breathe. Against his ear, Vergil asks, “Do I need to stop?”

Should he give it a break? Probably. Does he want to?

“Don’t you dare,” Dante pants back, demanding, lifting his head to glare back at the naga on his back.

Vergil takes his chin and guides it into a better angle to kiss him with, musky taste on his tongue that Dante realizes is himself, and Dante immediately sputters on an explosive noise as the movement inside him starts up again. Only this time, it’s moving in two different tempos, and god dammit, but this is better than he could have ever hoped for when he set out to seduce his gorgeous, intelligent, amazing host.

Blissful torment short-circuiting your synapses means that it’s very easy to lose track of time. Pain and pleasure become relative, a cataclysmic mixture of sensations that blend and lose all meaning the longer he spends under Vergil. His body shudders and jerks outside of his control, but he’s unable to move at all as he’s completely caged against the rock. Above him, Vergil breathes rich, luxurious sounds, long sighs and deep, rumbling moans that have goosebumps breaking out across his skin. At one point, Dante manages to gather up enough brain power to squeeze down on the cock inside him. He is rewarded with Vergil doing a full (human) body arc against his back, complete with a hissing groan that has Dante moaning in response. He does it again, just to hear it again, and Vergil drags his tongue along his throat.

Oh god, please let it be done soon, he begs as the agony sharpens alongside the sizzling, molten heat that gathers in his loins. As if in response, the rhythmic motions inside him quickens. Oh god, please don’t ever stop.

Suddenly, after what seems like an eternity, Vergil drags him into another kiss, devouring his mouth like conquered territory. He groans into Dante’s mouth and the twitching inside him goes ballistic. Dante keens back as the twitching bumps into his prostate, and again, and again. It seems to go on forever. His mind is scoured pure with terrible, uncompromising pleasure, uncomprehending of anything other than unending sensation. He only becomes aware that he’s crying when Vergil’s thumb rubs across his wet cheek.

All motion stops after that. Dante squirms desperately, revived lust an ugly, desperate need inside him. He hurts everywhere, back, hips, ribs, ass, yet he’s so hard it hurts even more. He needs to be touched, even just one stroke, please don’t stop now-

He must make enough of a fuss that Vergil drags himself off his back and uncoils from around his legs, slipping out of him with a wet suctioning noise. Dante shudders violently as he leaves, both from the lack of warmth and the strange, almost reluctant way the shafts pulled out. He’s drawn back into a loop of scale and muscle, leaning back into Vergil’s chest with both of his arms wrapped around his waist

Vergil peers down at him curiously, even a little concerned if he didn’t know any better. There’s a humanish flush high on his cheeks that brings a lovely rosy tint to his cheek scales, and the angles of his face are relaxed in that attractive, debauched way that screams of a good fuck. Dante flops his head back against his upper chest and breathes a quiet, pleading noise, begging without words.

Whatever he sees, the bulb must turn on upstairs. Something smug, arrogant and self-gratifying crosses Vergil’s face, turning his expression cat-like and smirking. Amped up as Dante is, it’s likely he would have tried to bite him in retaliation if it wasn’t for the fact that Vergil immediately palms his dick with a smooth hand.

He throws his head back, relief and rapture coiling deep in his core, spurring him on. _Yes, yes, yes, yes,_ forms a living mantra in his head, maybe even out loud. He doesn’t care, just as long as Vergil doesn’t stop.

When he comes, it’s like a supernova goes off behind his eyes, like a flashfire tears itself through his body. Maybe he screams, maybe he’s just sitting there, eyes screwed tight and mouth agape, unable to produce a sound because the ecstasy strangles the life from him. He sobs a trembling breath when Vergil keeps stroking, dragging it out until it’s cycling back around to pain and too much and oh god he’s going to kill him-

Dante flops back against Vergil when he finally lets go, watching with numb awe as he licks Dante’s come from his hand like it’s a tasty treat. Another vibrating noise echoes out of Vergil, forming a soothing rumble against his back that jumpstarts the process into soothing his over-sexed body into unconsciousness. Dante barely feels the last kiss Vergil lays upon his forehead, amnesty and a benediction, too busy letting the warm water and the warm body holding him carry him off.

He’s gonna have to send what’s his name, Alice? Agnet? Astess? Whoever he is. Dante is going to have to send him a thank you letter for offering him this job. He’ll make sure to include an official apology letter for not getting him the sword he wanted, but hey. It’s not like anyone could blame him for grabbing such a rare opportunity with both hands.

Thank god he decided to focus on the fact that the reason was known for its high snake population. Otherwise, Dante wouldn't have had an excuse to stick around.


End file.
